Meteņi: A last fling before Latvian spring

The eastern Baltic coast was one of the last areas in Europe to be converted to Christianity.  Because of this, many of the pre-Christian traditions are still alive and have not syncretized with Christianity as much as they have in other parts of the world. For example, Jāņi, the ancient summer solstice celebration, is a national holiday in present-day Latvia, when much of the population heads out of the cities to spend the shortest night of the year around huge bonfires. Jāņi may well be the biggest celebration of the year, even ahead of Christmas.

The Latvians were an agricultural people, and therefore not only most of their celebrations, but their whole calendar, was based on the movement of the sun, the changing of the seasons and various agricultural events such as planting time and harvest. Holidays fell on the summer and winter solstices (Jāņi and Ziemassvētki), when days were at their longest and shortest, respectively, and the spring and fall equinoxes (Lieldienas and Apjumības/Miķeļi), when day and night were equal. Holidays also marked the half-way points between solstices and equinoxes: Meteņi on Feb. 10, Ūsiņi on May 10, Māras on Aug. 10, and Mārtiņi on Nov. 10. Traditions and rituals associated with the various times of year tended to be done to ensure success in daily life, work and harvests.

This is the time of year—around Feb. 10—when the Latvians celebrated Meteņi, the end of winter and beginning of spring.  Although nowadays Meteņi is not a big celebration, there are still many people who remember and observe it much the way Latvians did several hundred years ago.

Because it was not possible to do much work outside in winter, people turned to indoor work and visiting relatives and neighbors during the very cold weather. Spinning, weaving and sewing bees were a common way for the women to pass the time; children played word games and riddles with the grandparents; men fixed harnesses, whittled and prepared kindling wood. By the time of Meteņi, even though it’s still cold and there’s snow on the ground, spring can be felt in the air. Therefore, the Meteņi celebration is a joyous one. The days are becoming longer and sunnier, and it’s time to start thinking about the warmer season and spring work.

People particularly liked to visit friends and relatives at this time, and it was said that the farther one drove to visit, the longer one’s flax would grow and the better the cattle would thrive the following summer. It was also thought that lengthy sled rides down hills ensured an abundant flax and grain harvest, as well as general success in everything. In fact, sledding is considered the most characteristic and significant activity associated with Meteņi, and is done by adults and children alike.

Of course, what would a celebration be without food? After a day of sledding, everyone would sit down to a large meal with their guests. Earlier in the winter, say at Mārtiņi or Ziemassvētki, there was usually plenty of food in every house. But by Meteņi, stores were growing smaller. Therefore, it is no surprise that the foods associated with Meteņi are not all that rich, and they store well over the winter. Common for this time of year are barley porridges, dried peas and beans, zirņu pikas (gray peas and mashed potatoes molded into little balls), savory pies, sauerkraut, breads, beer and sausages. Pig’s head was a delicacy. Grūdenis, a Meteņi specialty, is smoked pork boiled into a porridge of barley grits and potatoes.

The rest of the evening was spent dancing, singing, talking, laughing and visiting. Sometimes loud hollering and pounding on the door and windows were heard—ķekatas had come to pay a visit! Ķekatas, people dressed up in costumes, have several different regional names, the best-known being budeļi, skutelnieki and čigāni. Although said to bring blessings and fertility to their hosts and their farmsteads, ķekatas were rarely polite. They boisterously roamed from one neighbor’s house to the next, barging in with loud songs and dances, demanding food and drink, often playing jokes on the people inside, and sometimes even frightening the children. A host who refused entry to the ķekatas or refused to feed them was ridiculed (think of trick-or-treat). Ķekatas expressed through songs the praises and criticisms of the hosts’ personalities (“apdziedāšana”). They constantly searched for faults. Ķekatas checked to see if the host’s house was clean enough, if the food tasted good, if all the chores had been done—and made fun of the owners if they didn’t live up to their standards.

It was even considered all right for the ķekatas to steal something small from the house. After all, it would have been the owner’s fault, because he or she had not been keeping a close eye on belongings! Some have explained the custom of stealing as deriving from necessity in this time of need. (And the tradition of costumes, then, conveniently hid the identity of the stealer, which was necessary for the continuation of neighborly relations the rest of the year.)

Latvian ķekatas’ costumes usually depict animals (wolf, goat, bear, horse, rabbit, heron, etc.), humans (the tall lady, the short man, a man dressed as a woman and vice versa, bear-tamer, gypsy, etc.) or common objects (bundle of straw, head of cabbage, moon, etc.). Less often does one see someone costumed as death, but usually the costumes do not depict gory or horrific monsters, as is common in Halloween celebrations. The main goal is to just hide your identity.

“Going ķekatās,” as it is called in Latvian, was a major part of the whole winter season and of all its celebrations—Mārtiņi, Meteņi, and especially Ziemassvētki. Meteņi was the last opportunity of the year to go ķekatās, because this was purely a winter form of entertainment. The English counterpart to the ķekatas is the mummers, while the Americanized version of the Celtic tradition is Halloween. The Meteņi time of year also corresponds to the Mardi Gras and Carnival season, with all of its revelry, trickery and costumes.

Ķekatas

Participants, dressed as ķekatas, enjoy a lively and colorful Meteņi celebration recently at Rīga’s Bastejkalns. (Photo by Uldis Briedis, Diena)

A swashbuckler with Latvian role models

Vella kalpi

Vella kalpi is my first memory of a Latvian film. I recently saw it again. Unfortunately, it has not aged well. The cinematography is average at best, the sound is tinny, the story overblown and the acting hammy. About the only part of it that doesn’t seem to have aged is Raimonds Pauls soundtrack. Then again, if you aren’t a big fan of Pauls that isn’t much to crow about either. Despite all of that, I still loved it and always will.

You have to understand this film in its context. You have to see it through the eyes of an 8-year-old, sitting in a darkened theater, eyes glued to the screen. An 8-year-old who was growing up in a confusing world not of his own making. Trying to make sense of a contradictory existence that adults only whispered about. I was a Latvian and I lived in Latvia, but I lived in Soviet Latvia. Up to this point my mythology only contained Soviet heroes. They might have spoken Latvian. They might have been Latvian, but at the core they were Soviets. This was the first time I had ever seen Latvian heroes and I couldn’t tear my eyes from the screen.

Basically, Vella kalpi is a swashbuckler. The film itself is based on the stories of Rutku Tēvs, but anyone familiar with the many variants of the “Three Musketeers” will recognize the plot. It’s about three young men who, motivated by both circumstance and national pride, rise up to protect Rīga from a foreign invasion. They do this with strength and cunning, exhibiting all of the traits that we consider to be Latvian: hard work, loyalty and a sense of humor.

I am sure that the film was supposed to reinforce the Soviet ideals of being vigilant to bourgeoisie ideals—our heroes are strapping farm lads with simple tastes and simple needs, and all of the villians were either nobility or foreigners—but all I could see was Latvian heroes doing great deeds with a great bit of panache.  This is who I wanted to be when I grew up.

It was my first exposure to Latvian role models outside of my own family. You might think it hyperbole, but you have to understand the total control that the Soviets had over all media. The goal of Soviet media was to produce good Soviets and not good Latvians. Perhaps the most amazing thing is that this movie managed to bypass all of that. While on the surface seems to reinforce Soviet mythology, at its heart it is about Latvian identity and Latvian ideals.

Details

Vella kalpi

Aleksandrs Leimanis, director

Rīgas kinostudija,  1970

Notes: In Latvian. Musical/adventure/comedy, color, 80 minutes. Principal actors: Olga Dreģe, Arturs Ēķis, Eduards Pāvuls, Elza Radziņa, Haralds Ritenbergs and Kārlis Sebris; screenplay: Jānis Anerauds (based on the stories of Rutku Tēvs); music: Raimonds Pauls.

‘Likteņdzirnas’ contrasts ideals, realities

Likteņdzirnas

Eduks (Ivars Kalniņš) is reunited with his student, Agnese (Agnese Zeltiņa), in the streets of Old Rīga.

Likteņdzirnas is a flawed film that manages to capture the spirit of the years shortly following Latvian independence—despite its tendency towards overwrought sentimentality and substandard production values.

Eduks (Ivars Kalniņš) is a college professor caught between the reality of the present and the desire to regain the past. He has inherited a mill. To him the mill holds priceless sentimental value. To his ex-wife and children the mill has only monetary value. He wants to restore the mill to its former glory and live happily ever after in its pastoral setting. Everyone else is pressuring him to sell it and get all that he can while he can. There is no shortage of buyers, including Vincent (Romualds Ancāns), a quasi-Mafiosi who wants to turn the mill into a Roman bath and brothel. Eduks is joined in his struggle to restore the old mill by Agnese (Agnese Zeltiņa) and Beisiks (Artūrs Skrastiņš). Agnese is an old student of his who, in a twist of fate, had lost her eyesight. Beisiks is a young musician wandering from job to job who knows every Latvian folk song, but dresses like a Metallica groupie.

This broad soap opera outline is symbolic of all that was happening in Latvia at the time and, to a point, is continuing in the present day. Shortly after independence, as people reclaimed properties usurped by the Soviets, similar real-life stories were played out all over Latvia. The joy of our regained independence often had to take a back seat to the need to live and the desire to thrive in a capitalist society. This was a society in which traditional Latvian values at times clashed head on with the realties of having to make a buck.

Eduks represents the idealized model of what a Latvian is: strong, stoic and with a lyrical love of the land. He is always willing to do the right thing. Vincent symbolizes the forces of change that were sweeping through the nation. He borders the fine line between a legitimate businessman and an old fashioned crime boss. Beisiks symbolizes the lost youth of the current generation: aimless and fatalistic, proud of his heritage while adopting the mannerisms and language of Western culture, trying to bridge the two into one. Agnese represents the Latvians who have decided to make the best of what they have despite all of the obstacles.

Likteņdzirnas is not a great film, but it is a good one. Director Jānis Streičs starts off slowly, but eventually manages to create a believable story full of lyricism and warmth. However, what really makes the film work is the performances of the actors, primarily of Skrastiņš. Skrastiņš manages to capture the dichotomy of Latvian youth, caught in a mess that was not of their making and persevering with a combination of fatalistic resignation and youthful exuberance and optimism. Kalniņš brings just the right note of soul to Eduks without, as often happens in Latvian films, making him seem overly dramatic and brooding.

This film could have easily have turned into a heavy melodrama, but in the end it manages to tell its story with humor and warmth. It captures the hardships of adjusting to a new world and manages to show the difficulty of reconciling our expectations with the realities of life. There is a bit of these characters in all of us.

(Editor’s note: This review originally appeared on author Andrejs Makwitz’s Web site, The Latvian Film Page, and is republished with permission.)

Details

Likteņdzirnas

Jānis Štreics

National Film Center of Latvia,  1997

Notes: In Latvian. Drama, color, 105 minutes. Screenplay: Jānis Streičs; director of photography: Harijs Kukels; producer: Uldis Šteins; music: Raimonds Pauls; set design: Ieva Romānova; editor: Maija Indersone; sound: Viktors Ličovs; principal cast: Ivars Kalniņš, Agnese Zeltiņa, Artūrs Skrastiņš and Romualds Ancāns.